


You Make Me

by deanxcasxlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gender or Sex Swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanxcasxlove/pseuds/deanxcasxlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas delivers the news of Gabriel's return, it doesn't seem that much of a big deal. That is until Gabriel sends Team Free Will into an alternate universe with no explanation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Me

The word ‘hung-over’ isn’t relevant to Dean’s life anymore. He is in a constant state of being hung-over; alcohol glugging its last lap around his network of veins, the fatty leftovers from the beer wedging their way into his arteries and clogging his liver. His brain hums with displeasure at the morning sun filtering through the shitty motel curtains, his eyelids not thick enough to keep it out. He knows this isn’t healthy, isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. But he’s tired – _God_ , he’s tired – and this is the only way he can get through each day anymore.

Sam stirs in the bed next to him; a rare day where the kid isn’t up at the ass-crack of dawn, ready to jog to the coast and back. He’s not really a kid anymore – Dean knows that – but he takes comfort in it; his kid brother. For a moment he can forget about the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, the unthinkable amounts of demon blood and how they just keep lying to each other over and over and over… Then it hits him, harder than any dick-bag angel, demon or ghost has. Harder than Castiel in that alleyway, and harder than the death of his father. Every morning is the same.

So Dean drinks. He drinks until he can’t anymore, and then he drinks some more.

It’s around mid-morning when Castiel turns up; face stoic as ever and trench coat ever-slightly askew. Dean’s toying with the beer bottle between his fingers, peeling the label off as it becomes ever-soggy with condensation. Sam’s out running – it’s an unusual day where they don’t have a hunt. No demons to smite; no ghosts to gank. He’s going a little crazy.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, his voice free from the usual urgency or the edge that means he needs something doing. Dean’s heart sinks.

“Hey, Cas,” he rumbles, his voice low and scratchy. He coughs. “’Sup?”

The angel says nothing. Instead, his eyes focus on the bottle in Dean’s battered hands. The expression on his face is indescribable, but Dean could swear there’s an air of disappointment around his scrawny body.

“You have, in total, consumed thirty of these alcoholic beverages this week,” Castiel begins, taking the brown glass bottle from Dean’s hands with ease, “and it is only Tuesday.”  The angel fixes him with a gaze, and Dean definitely doesn’t blush but he does look away.

“So?” he retorts childishly. Castiel says nothing, his head tilting. He reaches forward and Dean flinches – Castiel shoots an incredulous look at him – before the angel’s index and middle fingers plant themselves in the middle of his forehead and something in his guts clenches. He winces, gasping for air, and Castiel’s fingers are gone.

“What the hell, Cas?” he gasps, clutching his abdomen.

The angel sets himself in the chair next to Dean’s, his posture ever-formal.

“Your liver was turning black and rotten,” Castiel explains, picking up the beer bottle again and sniffing it. His face transforms into a picture of disgust, and he replaces the bottle on the table.

“Who gives a shit,” Dean grumbles without requiring an answer. Castiel answers anyway. Of course he does.

“I do.”

Dean doesn’t want to admit to the flutter in his stomach when the angel says that he cares - he fights the smile threatening to crawl onto his lips and he avoids the guy’s face. It’s confusing. The feelings aren’t unlike ones he’s had before… he’s felt them in the presence of someone else. Cassie.

But Castiel is a dude - an _angel_ dude - and Dean is a straight dude, and that’s that.

“Whatever, man, spare me the feelings.” Castiel rolls his eyes and stares at his own hands, clasped in his lap.

“Anyway, you never said what you came for,” Dean invites, cocking his eyebrows at the angel. The angel sighs, grimacing slightly before meeting the hunter’s inquisitive eyes.

“Gabriel is back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still getting the hang of writing Dean x Castiel; bear with me! I'd love a beta if anyone would want to...


End file.
